The Night Chicago Died
by nints
Summary: The New Directions' Nationals have already gone to a bad start. They're stuck in Chicago with no hotel or transportation, or any clue of where to go. The only hope they have is Santana, who was born in Chicago, and may have friend to help them out. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Hello to anyone reading this!**

**Uh, so I've been playing around with the idea of Santana coming back to visit the place she came from, for a while. ****Santana is really a great character, and I'm glad they gave her some backstory finally. She's really easy to write too, if you don't make her a bitch who cusses every other word...**

**At first I thought maybe California? But then I was watching glee and they said that Nationals was in Chicago this year…so I guess Chicago it is!**

**May I just say that I love Chicago a lot and have always wanted to visit, but never have, so the places in this fanfic maybe a bit off? Oh, and if you're from Chicago, I would love to speak to you to help with research…not likely I'll get anyone who is, but you never know!**

…**I'll stop rambling now and let you read…**

* * *

The endless white blanket of clouds broke as the plane slowly, ever so slowly, descended towards its target. The horizon could be seen in the distance, over the towering rooftops, as the sun set on another hot, early May day. The town seemed to be lazy, tired, like its residents as they came back from their respective jobs in the main city.

It always amazed me how this town reflected its people so much. I guess that's why I loved it so much, besides the obvious reasons that I was born and raised here. Chicago was not one of those big cities that never slept…which city was that anyway? I could never remember…LA? Dallas? No, definitely not Dallas…New York? Maybe I should look it up. I bet it's a lot of cities. Like Buenos Aires. I know for a fact that Buenos Aires never sleeps.

Ahem.

Chicago wasn't really as wild as those other cities in my opinion, at least not during the day, and at least not where I grew up. Sure it was fun to cause trouble in the slums with the other hoodlums, but I didn't grow up in the worst neighborhood in Chicago by a long shot. Most days where "off" kinda days, we would make our way around the drug stores and restaurants, hooting and hollering about God knows what and dog whistling at the hot high school girls that worked in said drug stores and restaurants. Most of them knew us anyway and would pay no mind at our childish advances on them, but would slip us extra candy bars and biscuits for our trouble.

We were total studs, my buddies and I.

But then I left after my father got a better job offer in St. Rita's and hadn't been back. I wondered what they had been up to, my group of friends. There were at least twenty of us by the time I left. Were they still together? Would they remember me?

I had promised to write, but I got caught up in moving to a new town and then starting high school. And then I met Brittany and she became the only clear thing in my mind for a long time. Sometimes she still is.

But after the Nationals destination was announced, _Chicago_ joined her in my mind's clarity, as well as all of the names of my greatest friends. Sam…Pete…Bobby…Deryck…

I must have made a face, because Brittany was looking at me kinda weird. I smiled.

"You excited?" I asked, lightly lacing our fingers together. Her head bobbed with a nod, her eyes and cheeks and mouth smiling at me.

"Totally," she confirmed, as if I didn't see her nod. I grinned back at her and rested back against the seat as I felt the familiar feel of the plane descending more sharply.

We could have driven to Chicago. It was only a four hour ride from Lima by car, but I had insisted on taking the plane because—well I had my reasons.

I just wish my hopes would not go unfulfilled.

* * *

O'Hare airport was not a stranger to anyone in Chicago. Prior to 2005, O'Hare was the world's busiest airport in terms of takeoffs and landings. Mainly due to limits imposed by the federal government to reduce flight delays at O'Hare, it was reduced to the third place, with Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport becoming the first. It is the world's second busiest airport in terms of aircraft movements, however, and personally I have always found it to be the best anyway, as a native Chicagoan would.

Our group got off the plain at about seven, and after collecting our suitcases we finally, _finally_ got our first taste of Chicago in standing outside the airport. The smell and sound of Chicago was like home. I didn't even _know_ Chicago smelled different until I hadn't gotten the chance to smell it in years. The air was warm and a gentle hot breeze was blowing softly, tickling my skin. The town was coming alive now, the bright lights of downtown were visible in the distance.

Brittany nudged me lightly as I stared off into the orange aura radiating off the city. I looked to her as she pointed to a figure a couple of yards away from us.

It was a person. A female in baggy second hand cloths and a wicked smirk which would put Quinn to shame. She was watching us—me, actually, with sharp eyes.

I recognized her immediately, of course, because how can a person not recognize the person you grew up with?

Briefly I wondered if I should go to talk to her, but Mr. Shue chose at that moment to announce a major drawback in our trip. One of many, as it would be.

"Guys, I just got a call from our hotel. It seems our rooms have been given away."

There was sounds of outrage from my friends. Many people threw us looks and raised eyebrows. Mr. Shue made motions for us to calm down.

"What are we gonna do, Mr. Shue?" Mercedes wanted to know.

"I guess we'll just have to try another hotel and see if there is any room for us."

"You won't find a hotel with an open room." A voice said from behind me. It was a raspy voice, one that I knew very well, and one which paralyzed me with uncertainty. As the rest of the group turned to look at the source, I didn't.

I guess I looked kind of awkward, deliberately facing a different direction than everyone, but at that moment I couldn't really bring myself to care.

"I couldn't help but overhear your dilemma." She continued after a moment of silence. Her voice was casual, as if she had already begun to trust us.

"Oh." Mr. Shue's one breath kind of summed up what we were all feeling.

"I'm Sam," she said after a while, and briefly I wondered if I should turn around now and end the awkwardness. She hadn't called me out yet, so maybe she didn't remember me.

No, she remembered. The way she was looking at me earlier was evidence to that. I bet she even remembered that candy bar I promised to give her when we were ten...

The sun was setting quickly now, and the possibility of having to sleep at the airport crossed my mind, if we wouldn't find a suitable place to stay by the end of the night. Chances are, it would rain tonight, too.

"I know a place down in Near North Side. Pretty cheap motel run by a friend of mine's family, if you would like to stay there." Sam threw out after another long silence.

I inhaled sharply. I knew what she was talking about, of course. My family had been the prime financial supporter of getting that place on paper and then onto the ground. It had cost us nearly a million dollars, but my father was happy to do it. My friends Scotty, Deryck, and Bobby helped their old man run the place after their mother passed away a couple of years before I left. Bobby was my closest friend out of the three, and was also involved with it some, but he never really did anything except carry suitcases for guests. I wonder if he worked there seriously now.

Mr. Shue laughed that annoying, relieved laugh of his and the tension broke as mutters started erupting from the group.

"There should be an eight o'clock bus coming 'round shortly. You guys need to get on it." Sam instructed lightly. Mr. Shue nodded.

"Are you not coming with us?" Finn blinked. Sam looked at him and smirked.

"I've got places to be and stuff to do. Don't worry, I'm sure Santana can lead you there. She knows what I'm talking about."

The comment was so casual and light that I almost didn't catch my name in it. But then I did, and by the time I turned around to everyone's curious eyes, Sam was strutting off.

* * *

The buses of Chicago, as one would have it, were sometimes on time and sometimes late. I always found that to be a metaphor for life, in a way. Almost a hurry-up-and-wait kind of life.

My friends and I got around mostly by buses in the time that I lived here, so a lot of the drivers knew me. Our bus was running late by five minutes, now, and the air was getting cooler outside. It was not _cold,_ really, but that hot breeze had warped into a cool one, and many of my companions had rummaged through their suitcases and found jackets.

Nobody really asked me about Sam, surprisingly, and I had a feeling they _would,_ but later, and not all at once.

I wondered how I would explain. I could just take the easy way out and say she was just a friend. But then, why would she have been waiting for me at the airport? That was not a "just friends" action. That was lovers action. Or maybe not. Friends wait for each other at airports all the time, right? But not everyday for four years, like she promised she would.

I wondered if she actually _had_ done that. That was kinda desperate. And really sweet. But also rather creepy...in a charming way.

Would Brittany have done that if I left her and promised to one day come back?

I would have to ask her that someday. But not now, because the bus was here.

* * *

**So, hope you guys enjoyed the first little glimpse into this fic. I'll continue it, because I want to put my all into this, and I'm already formulating some later chapters of this. I don't know how long it will be, exactly, but I don't really plan before I write anyway.**

**You'll get to meet more of her friends in the next chapter.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A lot of this chapter is on Chicago's neighborhoods and structures, so the information comes from Wikipedia. Any and all mistakes are mine.**

* * *

With current-day Chicago traffic, the ride from O'Hare to Cabrini-Green took almost exactly an hour. The best part about buses, though, is that they let you off in very convenient areas. The people behind making bus routes are not idiots, obviously.

I wonder what it takes to make bus routes. Probably all sorts of calculations of time and traffic and flow of people at different spots in the city. Time tables are tricky, too. I'd hate to be a bus driver.

We were more than halfway there, now, and I began to recognize several buildings after we got off 94 and split off into riding alongside West School Street. I could see the rows of houses right next to me, and I put my hand on the window, as if that would make the bus stop so that I could get a good look.

But the bus didn't stop. We flew past West School Street and merged into North Kimball Avenue, which was lined with familiar shops and restaurants. Radio Shack, Duncan Donuts, Pizza Hut, and a Valero gas station. After the stretch of businesses, townhouses lined the streets. Eventually they stopped hovering over us, though; as North Kimball broke into several intersections.

In the distance I could see an old nasty yellow building which was a rather large structure, and so stood awkwardly, towering over the lesser townhouses and businesses. It was not used anymore, I don't think, but the lover part of it had been made into Payless Shoe Source.

We split off into North Milwaukee Avenue, then, and after passing some low-scale businesses, the row houses started to make their ever-present appearance on the side opposite from mine.

"Hey," Britt had sat in the seat next to mine somewhere around that yellow building. I didn't see her, really, but I knew she was next to me when my heart slammed itself into a higher gear and started pounding.

"Hi." I replied easily, keeping one eye on the passing landmarks and rows of cars.

There was a small silence between us.

"So, did you know that Sam girl?"

And _there_ it was. I turned to her completely and gave her a small smile.

"Yes, we grew up together." I didn't really need to elaborate, because there was nothing more to elaborate. Except… "She was my best friend."

Britt nodded. "You were really close." It wasn't a question, really, but I nodded anyway.

"Yes."

We sat around for a while, and I went back to watching the scenery. We were passing the Logan Square, which was a pretty good indication that we were _in_ Logan Square.

Logan Square was number 22 on the list of the 77 community areas of Chicago. It sat in the North Side of Chicago. The North Side was made up of five communities in total: Avondale, North Central, Lake View, Lincoln Park and Logan Square. The North Side was the most densely populated residential section of the city, which was kinda strange, because I always thought The Loop was.

"So, was she _waiting_ at the airport for you?" Britt's voice rang. It was a good distraction, because I was kinda tired of looking at boring landmarks, and remembering what my Chicago History class had to say about them.

"Yeah," I answered. "My friends told me they would wait for me at the airport every day until I came back, when I left." I elaborated, because, one person waiting at the airport for me screamed 'lovers' and Sam and I were not lovers.

Not. Even. Close.

We got off of Milwaukee for a while, and just kinda rode _beside_ it before joining it again, just a couple of blocks away from our destination.

I looked around. The bus was empty besides us, and many of my traveling companions were either asleep or getting there. Some were mindlessly looking out the window or talking in hush voices amongst themselves.

We were coming up on the stop I wanted us to get off on, so I stood up and made my way to Mr. Shue careful not to fall

"Mr. Shue, we're about to get off." I informed him quietly. He smiled tiredly at me, and made motions to shake Finn and Rachel, who were sitting in front of him, awake.

By the time the two of us had woken everybody, we were clearly in Near North Side. The shops and houses that I only vaguely recognized were now as clear as day to me, even though it was night-time. The memories came back clearly and almost all at once, triggering each other.

Piece of sidewalk in front of a store—_we used to walk down that stretch of sidewalk everyday—I remember we walked to Iguana Cafe from my house and we passed that building—Oh. My. God. Iguana Café. Best freaking café in Chicago—I really have to take everyone there—I wonder if I'll meet anyone I know there._

* * *

Cabrini–Green was a Chicago Housing Authority public housing development project on Chicago's Near North Side. It was bordered by Evergreen Avenue on the North, Orleans Street on the East, Chicago Avenue on the South, and Halsted Street on the West. Today, only a set of row houses, built in the 1940s, still remain. Over the years, gang violence and neglect created terrible conditions for the residents, and the name "Cabrini–Green" became synonymous with the problems associated with public housing in the United States.

Since the buildings have been demolished, many areas are fenced in, but filled only by vegetation. From the satellite it appears as though these areas are farmed by the residents, even if that is completely preposterous and not true.

When I left Chicago, not all of the buildings from the project had been demolished. I didn't really know which ones were part of the project and which ones were not, but I knew that they were not all gone.

I didn't live in Cabrini-Green, but knew my around there pretty well. Better, by far, than anyone whose address was in Gold Coast should.

The bus let us off at Orleans & Chestnut at around 9:15. Our destination, Horton's Motel, was literally across the street. The night had finally rested on one temperature-a cool 49 degrees-and seemed content to stay there. The cool air served as a shocker to many of my half-asleep friends, which was good, because even in more business-centered parts around Cabrini-Green, you had to keep your eyes open.

I eyed the structure before me. Horton's was painted a light yellow, and had seemed to have had its coat of paint redone since the last time I saw it. It stretched out lazily before me, and stood only three stories high, with dangerous-looking, balcony-like areas jutting out of its initial frame and just kinda hanging in mid air.

"So where to?" Britt was as cheerful as ever. Her optimism brought me back to reality and gave me some stability, so I gratefully wrapped my arm around her midsection, as much to make sure I didn't fall as to have some sort of contact with the present.

I pointed to the building. "That way."

* * *

**Blehh. I'm tired. Its 3:18 in the morning, so I think I'll cut this off here. Things will get moving in the next few chapters, but I just wanted to give you guys a "thank you" present/update for all of the emails of story alerts and favs and comments I got from all of you.**

**Yay you!**

**...I need to sleep**

**:P**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, here's the next one. I hope you don't hate me for how I pared up the rooms. I didn't put a lot of thought into it, but just kinda slapped people together.**

**Also, may I just point out that in Google Maps, Chicago still has snow on the ground…in April…?**

**REVIEW QUESTION OF THE DAY: when was Google Maps last updated? **

* * *

When we entered, Scotty Horton was working reception. Well, if you count sitting behind the reception desk and reading _Atlas Shrugged_ working.

Growing up, Scotty and I were friendly enough. We didn't really associate outside of when I would visit his family, and even then it was an exchange of a few polite words with each other. I was much closer to Bobby, who was two years younger than me, and even Deryck, who was around my age.

Scotty was two years my senior, and was a sophomore in high school when I left Chicago. He would most likely be in college now, although I highly doubt he was. He was an intelligent enough young man, sure, but even then college costs money. And money is something the Horton's never had enough of.

Physically, Scotty always reminded me of a regal mystical animal—like a dragon. He had almond-shaped blue eyes and silky, wavy, beige hair. He started growing his facial hair around the age of sixteen, and now had a beard and mustache. He had a muscular build and white skin. Overall, he looked like his mother the most out of all three of the Horton brothers. Deryck and Bobby had deeply tan skin and black hair, more common of their father's family.

Scotty didn't look up from his book when we came inside.

"Is that a good book, Scott?" I asked, leaning casually against the front desk. Scotty didn't stop reading, but his face broke out into a smile I had never seen before, and made his whole face almost…sparkle.

"It's excellent; maybe I'll let you borrow it when I'm done." He looked up at me and his eyes twinkled. "Hello, Santana." He used a low, warm voice, the likes of which I had only really heard him use with his brothers before.

And then his arms were around me.

It was strange. A guy has not hugged me in a while, and at first I almost recoiled, my body not used to the masculine curves of muscle, but I relaxed and hugged him back shortly after telling myself it was okay.

Scotty smelled freshly showered. Like soap, and standard shampoo, and the warmness of a familiar _dusty_ smell that only the Hortons had. Like vintage things.

The hug was hesitant and extremely short, if very awkward—considering he and I had never touched before, and there was a reception desk in between us—but then Scotty let me go and smiled warmly at the group behind me.

"Hello," his voice was back to his normal pitch as he greeted my friends. "Do you all want rooms?"

Scotty was never a socialite. In fact, he was rather awkward in social situations, but that didn't mean he hated them. Papa Horton told me once that that was the reason he put Scotty on the nine-pm-to-two-am shift at the reception desk, because it was the slowest time of business, and because Scotty was busy carrying bags up and down stairs for new guests any other time.

The motel was a family owned business, so Papa made sure to include his boys in the affair. They all had five hour shifts at the reception desks, even if in school—Papa was convinced that anything past the eighth grade was not worth learning if one was to work at a motel for the rest of his life, which was sadly what the Horton boys would end up doing—and so the days of the Hortons revolved around the business and their shifts. Bobby often had the noon-to-five shift, and Deryck the two-am-to-seven-am shift, while Papa Horton himself took up the seven-am-to-noon shift.

In a way, the Horton children all had a specific, polar personalities and talents to them. Scotty was lovable, awkward, and very physically fit—the ideal bag boy. Deryck was not very talkative, and avoided social situations like the plague, so he did most of the cleaning and things behind the scenes. Bobby was overbearingly friendly and too cheery, which made him a good receptionist, if not a little annoying endearing. It was like they were specifically sculpted by the hands of God to keep this motel running, and I hoped Papa Horton thanked God for them every day.

"Yes. That'd be great." Mr. Shuester chirped. I was momentarily confused about what he was talking about, but then Scotty spoke again.

"How many? Our rooms fit four."

There was a pause while Mr. Shue tallied up the rooms. "Let's have five. One room will get three people to it."

It was amazing. The way our group so smoothly split up into groups of four, even if they _were_ half asleep. Mercedes, Tina, Quinn, and Rachel. Finn, Puck, Mike, and Sam. Joe, Rory, Blaine, and Kurt. That left me, Britt, and Sugar, which I could totally live with.

Mr. Shue chuckled at our division and looked back to Scotty, who handed him a bill and smiled.

"I hope you enjoy your stay."

* * *

At three o'clock in the morning there was a soft knock on the door. I didn't think anything of it at first—probably just the boys playing a prank, but the knocking continued steadily. Afraid it would wake up Britt and Sugar; I sighed without making a sound and crept out of bed silently.

On the other side, surprisingly, stood the whole Horton family.

For a split second I wondered what took Scotty so long to tell them that I was in the building, because—it was three fucking am—but then I was squeezed by _several_ pairs of masculine arms—at once—and my nostrils were overloaded by the familiar musty smell that I had deprived my senses of for a long time, and all my other thoughts kinda flew out the window.

We didn't say anything, any of us, but just held each other. On the outside, in the presence of my current glee friends, I would have scoffed at the extended display of affection, but I had really missed my boys, so I kept quiet while they basked in the glory of seeing me again.

It struck me, yet again, how different my two lives were. In Chicago I was badass, sure, but I was affectionate and chill and tried to make friends with everyone, and enemies with no one. Lima was the complete opposite.

I suppose it's all due to the fact that in Cabrini-Green—where I spent most of my days—if you _didn't_ make friends with everyone, and enemies with anyone, you were likely to get shot. Like, coldblooded. There's really no danger in being _shot_ in Lima.

Don't get me wrong, the kids of Lima Heights Adjacent are mischievous little rats, but they don't have access to a store which sells guns to underage people without permits, and they don't form those gangs people see on the movies, which are romanticized usually—gangs are scary as _shit_ in real life—and they don't _shoot at the sky_ on the Fourth of July—in celebration of our nation's freedom from those Englishmen, of course—and make it rain bullets all night long.

No, the kids of Lima Heights Adjacent aren't hoodlums; they're just bored with life and poverty and want to spice it up a bit. The kids of Cabrini-Green _are_ hoodlums, and they don't have families, usually, and every gang member earned is a friend, a brother, and one of your worst enemies, too.

When I was released from the tight embrace of the Horton males, I shivered. Sleeping in thin, silk pajamas is not really ideal for the fifty degree night weather of the Chicago night. Again, we didn't say anything, but just stared at each other, all five of us. It was extremely difficult because I was uncomfortable with staring—unless it was awe filled or lustful—and because it's hard to stare at four people at the same time up close.

"It's great to have you back, Santana. I thought you'd left us for good." Papa spoke, finally.

Papa had a gruff voice which had a strange tendency to get _very_ smooth. Bobby once told me that Papa could mimic voices in high school, but lost the ability to do so when he hit puberty. Bobby could mimic voices too, but not as good as Deryck, who could get them spot-on before puberty.

"Its good to be back," I admitted. I was beginning to shiver now, as a wind lightly swirled on my skin.

"We're sorry to pull you out of bed. It was Bobby's idea." Deryck muttered.

Deryck had a silky voice that was purely his mother's. He spoke in a slow, deliberate manner, but would often times speak to the ground, and not very loud, so it sounded like he mumbled. When he sung, however, it was a whole different story. To quote _The Hunger Games_, when he sung, the birds stopped to listen.

I was half expecting Bobby to quickly retort, but no sound came from him as he stood in front of me, studying my face so closely his eyes were narrowed.

"You're cold," Bobby decided finally, and his eyes regained their shape again from being scrunched up. He looked up and down the walkway, as if checking for other people, and looked to me again.

His voice had changed dramatically. He sounded like his father, with a gruff, scratchy voice. I was kinda stunned for a minute, because that voice didn't fit the face of the sugar-loving, hyperactive boy I grew up with. But it was the voice of a man, and Bobby, I reminded myself, was a man now, even if he was only two inches taller than me.

Nevertheless, I smiled politely and nodded, but made no move to close the room door, just standing there staring at all four of them, trying to pick out the differences in their appearances from that last day at the airport and now.

Bobby had gotten taller, and much more muscular. His black hair was longer than it was the last time I saw him, and he had several lines on his otherwise clear tan skin. Deryck, by far, was the tallest of all three of them, and had been midway through a gigantic growth spurt when I left, which I think would be finished by now. Deryck was very lanky, with hair that reached his shoulders, and a thin, narrow face. Both Papa and Scotty looked worse for wear, with frown and stress lines on their faces and deep circles under their eyes.

"You need to sleep." Bobby announced.

"I agree," Papa grunted, "Early rise tomorrow. The boys and I want to take you and your friends to breakfast at the Iguana." he motioned to his sons, who nodded eagerly.

"Oh," I really didn't know what to say. The idea of my past and my present meeting and mingling was...exciting, but also a bit nerve-wreaking. "Okay." I breathed convincingly and flashed a smile.

* * *

The Iguana Cafe sat on North Halsted Street. Halsted, as one would have it, was a prominent street in Chicago and all of Illinois, really. It begins at Cave-In-Rock, and runs for almost 380 miles before it enters, and dies, in Chicago. Along the way, it passes by dozens of towns and communities, laying out the prime example of the modern melting pot.

The weather was nice, so we walked from the motel to the cafe. At first, I was a bit apprehensive about how my friends would react to the Hortons, but they seemed to fit in naturally. Bobby was funny, flirty, and charming, Deryck was nice and helpful, and Scotty, who we had met the night before, made small-talk about the weather and the neighborhood to anyone who asked. Papa led the group and talked to Mr. Shue, asking him about the Nationals Competition and pointing out several restaurants which he recommended we stop by for either breakfast, lunch, or dinner in our time here. All four of them were keen on asking us about ourselves and showing us around the area. I kept quiet and walked with Britt hand-in-hand all the way to the cafe, enjoying the weather and listening to Bobby rant about several odd topics.

We got to the cafe in about half an hour at the leisurely walking pace we took, and entered.

The Iguana Cafe was a small cafe, with only a dozen or so tables. It was decorated nicely, with a mostly red and brown color scheme. It had several large windows that overlook the busy Halsted, and give the place an airy, outside feel and a warm atmosphere. The ceiling was industrial, and shamelessly uncovered, decorated with obviously fake crimson-colored pipes. There was a PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign, like in many restaurants, at the front entrance.

A waitress that I vaguely recognized made her way to us. And took us to several tables, splitting us up.

I was sitting at the bar with Britt on my left, and Quinn and Bobby on my right.

"So, what's good here?" Quinn casually asked. Bobby met my eyes, unsure if she asked me or him.

"Well, everything on the breakfast menu is excellent. Especially the crepes. The coffee is kinda drab, but then, I like mine extra strong anyway." Bobby explained.

I looked at the menu. It had been updated since the last time I was here to include some things I didn't remember being there.

"What are you getting?" Britt asked me.

"Probably some crepes and a latte. You?"

"Same."

All of us sat in silence for a while, which was a bit awkward on my part, and looked around the cafe at our other friends and various residents who were just getting started or were finishing their breakfasts. The atmosphere of this place was the best part, in my opinion, besides the European decor. The crowd was often times cool and minded their own business, and the service was slower in the morning, but it gave this place a lounge-like feeling.

It was, by far, my favorite place in all of Chicago.

Our waitress came. I recognized her vaugly, but Bobby grinned and greeted her by name and we ordered. After she left, Bobby leaned over to me.

"Our waitress is going to be my sister-in-law in a couple of months. Scotty and her are engaged."

I'm sure I looked like an idiot by the way I was gaping. "Really? Scott never told me that."

Bobby's eyes grew darker for a fraction of a second. "He did. We all did. We've been sending you letters the first, second, and third of every month since you left."

* * *

**Yay this chapter was the longest I've ever written!**

**Pathetic, right?**

**Anyway, here it is, and if anyone knows the answer to today's question, tell me.**

**Until next time!**


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